


Collateral Damage.

by wereallmadinhere



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wereallmadinhere/pseuds/wereallmadinhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Mr Gold is the most powerful man in storybrooke and a highly trained assassin, and Belle French is just collateral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first chaptered fic, and also my first fic for OUAT, so any feedback would be hugely appreciated.

Belle pulled her coat tighter around herself; it was a particularly cold morning and her shift at the bar had seemed to go on forever. The Rabbit Hole was open until 3am, and it said something about her hometown that there was still business for a pub at that hour of the day. Working the closing shift was awful, the only people left in the bar by closing time were not the sorts of people that were easy to kick out, it was a good day if she was only called a bitch once, and that wasn't even considering the mess that needed cleaning up. All in all she longed to curl up beside a warm fire with a good book, to have a nice meal, and maybe a relaxing bath; she smiled at that thought. Unfortunately, she knew that no such thing would be waiting for her when she got home. These days all she ever came back to was dirty dishes, freezing water and a nervous wreck of a father. More often than not she offered to do extra shifts at the bar because surrounded by noise and people, and whilst being practically run off of her feet, it was easy to forget about everything even just for a little while, besides they needed the money. Things hadn't always been that way. She remembered a time back before her mother had died when they had lived in a nice house, and her father had used to smile and tell her stories; when the loving arms of a parent were never too far away, when everything had been safe and happy. She didn't blame him for falling apart, not really, he had been through so much when her mother died and for all that he frustrated her she loved him dearly, he was her father. She just wished more than anything that she knew how to help him, but beyond ensuring that they were reasonably well fed she was at a loss, he had coped alright at first, he had been sad and lonely at best but he‘d managed. Then the shop had hit on rough times and he’d needed the money, they were already in trouble with the bank, getting a loan from them would have taken a miracle. She had warned him that borrowing money off of people like Spencer would only bring them trouble. 

Albert Spencer was an ogre of a man, all brawn and little brains, he was an outright bully and she had hated him from the moment she set eyes on him. That man had put the final nail in the coffin of their normal lives and she tried so hard not to blame her father for that either, but sometimes she cursed his foolishness. It had arisen from desperation and good intentions, but it had been foolishness nonetheless. Now her father was a wreck; he rarely left their tiny flat, he flinched at the slightest of sounds and he had looked so ill for so long that she could barely recall what he looked like when he smiled. Even now that they had been a full month without a single visit from Spencer or any of his men her father didn't seem to be any less concerned. She knew without a doubt that she would never forget the way she had felt crouched in the bathroom as two thugs battered down their front door. Her heart had raced so fast she had worried that she might simply die from sheer fright, and her fingernails had drawn blood from the palms of her hands. Sometimes she could still feel the butt of the gun pressed against her head, and the sight of her father, tears and snot alike streaming down his face as he pleaded for more time, just a little more time. It had been then that she’d realised that she had truly lost both of her parents. It might have been a cruel thought, but as she looked at the broken man before her, she had seen her beloved father, but she had no delusions about him; he could no more protect and care for her than her mother could. She was so distracted by her spiralling thoughts that she didn't even notice the man approaching her until she walked directly into him. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, bending down to retrieve her phone and keys which had been in her hands. 

The stranger crouched down to help her and as he handed her the bundle of keys he caught hold of her wrist. Belle looked at him fully in the face for the first time, he was a handsome man, only a little older than her, but there was something off in his expression, something that didn't quite sit right, and Belle was immediately on edge. She tugged her wrist out of his grasp and was relieved when he relented without a fight, she stood and gave him a weary smile; after all he had stopped to help. 

“Sorry, do you by any chance know where the rosebush gardens are?” he asked returning her smile. 

She recognised the name of the block of flats next to hers. “Yes, they’re back the way you came I’m afraid.” 

“Oh right, thanks, I’m useless with directions.” He was still smiling at her and he looked rather manic.

She hesitated uneasily; she knew that it would be polite to offer to walk with him seeing as they were both headed in that direction, but she was reluctant to spend any extended amount of time with this man. In the end though her courtesy won out and she offered to show him the way. There weren’t many people out at this hour just the occasional early morning jogger, and she wondered what this man could be doing paying visits, but then she guessed that maybe she didn’t want to know. Eventually after what seemed like a lifetimes worth of small talk, some bouts of very awkward silence and a rather odd few minutes of this strange man humming a tune which she’d never heard before, they arrived at the alley that would lead them their separate ways. 

“You just have to head down there,” she motioned towards the alley, “it’s the first block of flats on your right.” 

He nodded and offered his hand out presumably to shake. Belle placed her hand in his to which his grip tightened suddenly, she was about to protest when he sharply dragged her into the alley with him. Having been totally unprepared for the attack she lost her balance stumbling forward straight into his expectant arms. Before she had a chance to back away he had her whole body locked against his; she screamed, sheer terror like she had never known before pooled in her stomach, his fist slammed into her throat and for a second all she could do was gasp for air, she felt a sharp stab in her arm and finally he let go of her. There was a brief moment where Belle thought that everything would be okay as she made to run for the entrance which was all but a meter away, she tried to scream again but she realised that she had been overcome by a sudden drowsiness.

“You can try that if you like, you won’t get far.” 

Her limbs began to feel heavy and she staggered one last step before collapsing to her knees. It was difficult to breathe and her last thought before she blacked out was that she was dying; that she would die in this dingy alley on her way home from a dead end job, her life had barely begun and now it was going to end as unremarkably as it had played out.  
When Belle woke up it took her a while to remember what had happened; she sat up and surveyed the room she was in. She would go as far as to call it a cell disguised as a room, there was a small single bed in one corner and a desk with a rickety looking chair pushed under it. There were no windows and the rectangular lights that ran across the ceiling were constantly humming, paint peeled from the walls and the stone floor was bare. Belle propped herself up against the wall of the corner that she’d been dumped in and was forcibly hit by a wave of nausea, she pressed her forehead to the cold wall and tried to stop her head from spinning. A door on the opposite wall that she’d barely even registered on her first survey of the room opened and her attacker entered wearing a satisfied smirk.

“Ah I thought you’d be waking up now,” he strolled over to her corner carelessly dropping a bucket down beside her, “this is for the sickness; it’s a side effect of the drugs we knocked you out with.” 

The casual way the he alluded to her kidnapping disconcerted her and she avoided eye contact as she reached for the bucket, not totally sure yet that she wouldn't throw up. By the time she found the courage to face him again he’d already turned away from her and was leaving the room. She lay back against the wall and took two deep breaths, she needed to think, the man had said ‘we’ when he talked about drugging her but that didn't really tell her much. She wondered about Spencer, this could be his doing, but why would he kidnap her, it would have been much easier, and much more his style, to beat her to a pulp and leave her in that alley as a warning rather than to keep her here so she was obviously needed for something. For a moment she considered that the plan might be to hold her at ransom, but quickly she dismissed it, Spencer knew that her father didn't have the money no matter how many relatives he kidnapped. First things first Belle needed to sort herself out, using the wall for support she tried her hand at standing up and she was relieved to find that doing so didn't make her feel sick again, still she took the bucket over to the bed with her. On the way she tried the door, more out of instinct than any sense of hope and she was unsurprised to find it locked, she sat down heavily and took another look around the room trying to find something she’d missed, but it was to no avail, and a sense of helplessness settled over her. It felt too much like giving up, like accepting whatever fate awaited her, to just sit there and wait for the man to return, but she needed information before she could make any sort of plan she reasoned. Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long before the door opened again, however it was someone different that walked in this time, an older man entered using a cane to support his weight as he limped towards the bed. 

“You must be Belle,” his voice gave little away, and given another circumstance he would have sounded nothing but polite, but with the taunting little smile that played around his mouth she was sure he was mocking her.

She glared, as much as she was the victim here she wasn't going to allow herself to be manipulated, he was here for a reason clearly, and she wouldn't let him have his fun dragging this out, “Yes. Do you work for Spencer?” 

The man threw his head back and laughed, and Belle rather got the impression that this was some kind of pantomime, a show he was putting on for her alone, it irked her. 

“No, I don’t work for Spencer, my name is Mr Gold.” 

Belle couldn't help the sharp intake of breath at that name, because of course she knew it, everyone did. Mr Gold was the sort of name that was usually whispered behind hands or murmured under breath. Storybrooke was a much larger town than one might guess from first impressions, and for every white picket fenced house and pre-school there was a hostel and a drug den. Mr Gold owned pretty much all of it. As far as she could discern nobody really knew when it had started, when the official authorities had let their control slip into his hands, but it was long enough that Belle had never known anything else. It wasn't just that he owned the property though, he owned the people, anyone with any sort of legitimate power owed him a favour, either for putting them there in the first place or sometimes as rumour had it much darker deals. He had his own band of men and women of course, and it was well known that, for a price, Mr Gold’s highly skilled personnel would do pretty much anything you wanted. The prices themselves were never anything simple, rarely a simple exchange of money, and that tricked people into thinking that they were getting a good deal. Mr Gold had been the downfall of many a person in the town both metaphorically and physically, and up until now she had been fortunate enough never to have crossed his path, she was surprised actually by how ordinary he looked. He was just a man, a normal man that she might have smiled at sitting at a bus stop, she thought that maybe that made things worse and her hands began to shake a little.

“I’m going to go ahead and presume you have heard of me then.” Belle nodded. 

“What – what do you want from me?” 

“Well you see your father made me a deal, and now he seems rather unwilling to hold up his end.”

In the face of even the idea that her father could associate himself with these murderers she forgot who she was talking to, “No! He wouldn’t do that. He’s better than that.” 

“Apparently you don’t know him very well then dearie.” 

She wished with every fibre of her being that she could say with conviction that he was wrong, she wanted to tell him that her father was a good man and that he could never be alright with working with the likes of Mr Gold, however the denial died in her throat. 

“What did he promise you?” she whispered, because as much as she wished it wasn't true what other reason would they have for taking her? She was in far too much danger to let her emotions cloud her thinking, she had to be rational, and maybe she could come out of this unscathed.

“Information, in return for the disposal of Mr Spencer, now tell me Miss French your father tried to disappear off of the map before he approached me, who did he hire to help him with that?” 

“I- I don’t know.”

She hadn't been aware that her father had been planning any such thing, and if he had he certainly hadn't told her. Was he planning on leaving without her? She thought about the possibility of coming home one night to find him gone, to never see him again, would he have told her that he was alive or would he have let her presume that he had been killed for his debts. The thought made her heart sink. He hadn't gone through with it though; whatever his plan had been he had chosen to stay with her and so where was the sense in dwelling on ‘ifs’. Mr Gold stood towering above where she sat on the bed and she understood for the first time what it felt like to be truly intimidated by someone, she felt like a sheep being cornered by a wolf and it would be so easy to cower away, every instinct told her to, but she wouldn't show her fear in the face of this monster, even if in truth she had never been more vulnerable and afraid in her life. She sat up straight and met his scrutinising gaze. 

“Don’t you... well I’m sure that one of my people would be willing to help loosen your tongue for you if you’re lying.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She felt that she hid the tremor in her voice well.

Belle thought he was going to leave when he turned but he had barely taken a step before he stopped and turned to speak again.

“If you did have the information I wanted, would you tell me?”

“No.” She wasn't sure if it was simply an act of defiance, but she didn't think so. Her father had refused this man information for a reason, and she was certain that if Mr Gold was looking for someone then good things weren't about to happen for them. Could she really settle a person’s fate that way? She doubted it. 

He smirked, “then I have a different deal to propose, a deal for you.” He hesitated but she was too caught up between fear and curiosity to think of a reply, “you stay here with me, and all of your father’s discrepancies will be forgiven, and should any of Mr Spencer’s friends come sniffing around him we shall deal with them free of charge.” 

She considered it, it wasn't such a bad deal really, they still had some friends, people they hadn't lost contact with after they had moved from the other side of town, they even had bits of family dotted about outside Storybrooke, and she wondered how long it would be until people they knew started turning up dead, she wondered what Mr Gold’s price would be for her father if she didn't agree. If she did this for him then he might be able to get back on his feet, to live his life again, she hoped so, because there wasn't a choice really. All she had wanted for the past few years was to help her father, and here was her opportunity, she wouldn't let him face this, he couldn't face this. She looked at the man before her with his slightly greying hair and his faintly stubbled jaw and she wielded her resolution as a shield. 

“Will I have to kill people?”

“Not unless you want to.” His expression was carefully schooled into one of disinterest.

“No I don’t – I won’t do that,” she qualified. 

“Does this mean you accept?”

“Yes, I’ll stay here, but ... don’t kill them, not as part of this deal; I don’t want you to kill them for me.”

“Don’t take into this lightly dearie, it’s forever.”

“You promise that he’ll be safe?” 

“I never break a deal.”

“Then I will stay with you forever.”

He looked so smug, so proud of his little victory as he left, and it half made her want to punch him and half made her want to cry out that she’d made a mistake that he had to let her go. She wasn't strong enough for this; she wasn't strong enough to face the prospect of living out the rest of her life in the company of such dark people, nor the panic that was slowly but surely bubbling up inside of her. They didn't need her, she was of absolutely no use to Mr Gold and his people, and that frightened her more than anything. Once she heard the telling click of the lock she began to cry for the first time since she’d arrived there, and when she spewed bile into the empty bucket beside her she told herself it was because of the drugs.


	2. Chapter 2

Days came and went but Belle barely noticed their passing trapped between the same four walls that seemed to draw steadily closer together. The only indication that time hadn't stopped was the three brief intervals each day when her kidnapper arrived to bring her food and to escort her to the tiny bathroom just outside of her room. He hadn't spoken to her since he’d brought her the bucket and at first she had gladly followed his vow of silence, but it didn't take long for the absence of human interaction to make her wish for the sound of any voice, even his. She tried to count his visits so that she had at least some idea of how long she had been there, but more often than not she was too lost in her own mind to even register his presence let alone eat the meals he left behind. Thoughts of her father plagued almost every waking moment; when she had accepted the deal she hadn't thought to ask about him, whether they would tell him that she was safe, that she was here of her own free will, that they weren't hurting her. She could picture him wasting away in that tiny flat not knowing where she was and fearing the worst and she would never see him again. Her father was lost to her and she hadn't even said goodbye. If she had thought that she could use sleep as an escape she had been gravely mistaken; the terror of being left to rot found her in her dreams and she often woke drenched in sweat with images of her wrinkled skin hanging from lifeless bones and the same bed she sat on covered in her own filth still burning behind her eyelids. This went on for what seemed like an eternity to Belle. In reality it was little over a week. She couldn't say exactly what it was that made her suddenly determined to pull herself out of the darkness she had sunken into, but she awoke one morning with new found fortitude, and she promised herself that she would not fade away. After that she forced herself to stop the tears which had been coming periodically since that first day, and she ensured that she got out of bed as soon as she was awake, even if she only ended up pacing the room, because anything was better than sitting in the same spot all day every day. She made use of the shower in her bathroom and she began to eat properly, noticing for the first time not only that she was ravenous but that she had managed to lose a good deal of weight for the short time she’d been there. Those parts had been the easiest; it had been much more of a struggle to keep her thoughts from turning dark once again. It was a cycle, one that was damned hard to break once she let herself start on it, but she persevered and it became easier to control her thought patterns. 

It was some while into her personal breakthrough, and she was in the middle of trying to recall the fourth chapter of her favourite novel, when she heard the unmistakable sound of her door being unlocked. Unless she had allowed a large portion of time to slip by her unnoticed she was certain that it was a long while before she was due another food visit and so it was with baited breath that she watched as the door swung open. Mr Gold appeared with the same taunting smile as he’d worn last time, and he took a moment to survey her before he spoke.

“Just checking to make sure you’re still alive dearie.” He leaned his weight more fully on his cane, “you’re an awfully quiet hostage. Jefferson would be most displeased if he was made to clean up after your corpse.” 

Now, Belle French wasn't the sort of woman to be fooled by words. She had dealt most of her life with people who hid what they were really saying. First it had been her father’s upper class friends who had masked their insults behind fancy words after they had hit troubling financial times and then there were the teachers who had tried to pretend that they weren't asking if her father was a competent parent. There were the people who tried to offer words of consolation when they heard of her mother’s passing without ever saying the words ‘death’ or ‘mother’. Then there had been Spencer of course, who had tried to make his loan sound like the perfect solution to all of their problems. Belle knew the importance of paying attention. So, even though she was grudgingly impressed by his skill, it still didn't take her long to shake off the initial shock and disgust that his words had invoked, and to realise that he wasn't being as cruel as it first appeared. He was hiding good intentions behind coarse words, but to what purpose she had no idea. 

“It takes true talent to turn I’m just checking that you’re alright into something so grim,” she replied meeting his gaze, “and I’m not a hostage. I chose to stay here.”   
She feared that she was being too bold, but she didn't have very much to lose and she had the suspicion that Mr Gold was the type of man who would prefer her to be outspoken rather than submissive, as long as she wasn't speaking out against him that is. 

“Well I’m a talented man Miss French.” A hint of a genuine smile played around his lips and she had the notion that he was impressed. She almost smiled in return. His expression sobered then and his next words surprised her. “And I know that you’re no hostage.” 

The way that he said it he almost sounded admiring? Belle had no idea what to make of that or of him at all. She prided herself on being a good judge of character and everything she knew about Gold and everything she had seen had left her thoroughly confused by him. He was supposed to be a monster, he was supposed to be cruel and merciless, but whilst she wouldn't go as far as to say she liked the man, he hadn't displayed any beastly characteristics in her presence. She thought that she would enjoy figuring him out, if only she could convince him to spend enough time with her so that she might. He may have been many unpleasant things, but he was certainly a layered man, an interesting man, and it was hardly as if she had anything pressing to do; why not figure out what lay beneath the surface of Storybrooke’s deadliest resident. She was considering ways in which she might convince him to stay a little longer, but in the end there was no need; he kept the conversation going. 

“So why are you so quiet?” 

She shrugged, “Would you prefer me to spend all day screaming for help?” 

He barely acknowledged her answer, “Jefferson said you've been crying.” 

She bristled at the contempt which was so evident in his tone, “Of course I've been crying, I’m never going to see my family or friends again. I think you’d cry too.” 

At her words he visibly tensed and his face contorted into a look of such deep sadness for a moment so brief that had she blinked she never would have seen. It made Belle want to throw her arms around him, but then he relaxed and rolled his eyes and the sensation was gone. “You knew the deal you were entering into, maybe you should’ve thought about it a bit more carefully before you accepted.” 

“Yes I knew the deal I was entering into, but I assumed you wanted me for something. I didn't realise I would just be gathering dust and eating your food.” 

To her surprise her comment wasn't met with wit nor condescension, but rather a simple ‘ok’. 

“What?” she blanched. 

He stood stock still and silent for what felt like an age to her, because she had been thoughtless. Had she known he would take her complaint seriously, she might have considered her words more carefully, instead of offering up her services to a trained killer. He had told her she didn’t have to kill, but now she had given him a perfect opportunity to go back on that, to drive her into a corner. Once again his response wasn't what she expected.

“You’re right; you could be of much more use around here. I trust that you have some basic cooking and cleaning skills?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good, the place is getting filthy and Ruby has been most difficult since being placed on chef duty.” He smirked at what she presumed was a private joke he held with himself. “Do you accept?” 

“Yes,” she replied immediately with a sigh of relief, “I’ll be your maid.” 

He shot her an amused look, “Good, you needn't worry your job won’t be too trying for a young girl like you. You’ll cook meals if and when we require them, you can cook your own meals as well, you can clean the building as well as any equipment we use, and you can mail the body parts of our victims to their next of kin.” 

Belle was sure that she looked ridiculous as she uttered a pained little moan, the blood draining from her face. Gold simply laughed at her. “That last one was a joke.” He said with a conspiratorial grin. 

She couldn't help but laugh in return and she was sorely tempted to swat at him for his teasing, but she caught herself in time keeping her hands firmly in her lap. 

“I suppose I had best show you around then,” he turned to look her dead in the eye all traces of humour gone, “If you try to run, I’ll shoot you.” 

His hand rested against his breast pocket and she saw the outline of a gun settled there. She swallowed thickly, there was no doubt in her mind that he meant his words. He promptly unlocked the door that led into the tiniest of corridors, she had seen the place every single day when Jefferson (she assumed that this was who Gold had been referring to earlier) allowed her to use the bathroom and it still amazed her that three doorways could fit in what was really no space at all. The third door which was opposite hers, was one she’d never been through, whilst conscious anyway, and this was the one that Gold unlocked; it opened out to reveal what looked for the entire world like a room in an ordinary house. The same cold stones that lined the floor of her room resided under her feet, but the walls here had been given a somewhat recent lick of paint and there was a proper light shade which cast the room in a warm glow making it seem infinitely more homely than her cell. The room was the picture of contrast with its open plan layout and a large flat screen TV fixed to the wall, but the chairs surrounded an oval coffee table which was made from dark, expensive looking wood and carved with thorns and roses around the edge. Upon closer inspection she noticed the intricate scene from some ancient time complete with fruit trees and women in pretty dresses was set into the wood beneath the glass surface. Belle was so captured by the piece that it wasn't until Gold cleared his throat that she remembered he was still there. 

“This room won’t require anything special, polishing, sweeping, general tidying.” 

Belle nodded and continued her exploration of the room; she noticed that the chairs were all different, one being a sturdy looking arm chair that looked like it had been seating people for decades and the other a black leather sofa that had probably been bought in IKEA. It was clear that this room had never been properly furnished but rather bits and pieces had been added over time. The kitchen was nothing special, and she gave it no more than a quick glance around allowing Mr Gold time to explain that she would find a suitable range of ingredients and foods in the cupboards and freezer, and that she should cook anything she wished for her own meals. About half way through his instructions Belle spotted the small bookshelf which stood against the back wall; she waited until he finished speaking all the while itching to get a look at the material they had. When she finally sidled over to it she found that again there was a mismatch of titles. Some were romance novels most of which she had never heard of, there were a few crime novels and some more popular titles such as ‘The Da Vinci code’. It was the bottom shelf which caught her attention though, lined with classics which she was wholly familiar with. There were even a few she’d never gotten around to. She wondered, or more hoped, that eventually she could earn enough favour with Gold that he’d let her borrow books every now and again. The prospect cheered her immensely. After allowing her a few minutes of inspecting book titles Gold chivvied her in the direction of the staircase which took up most of the left hand side of the room. On the bottom step he moved to the side allowing her to go first and she gave him a small smile shocked by such a show of chivalry. 

“Don’t worry dearie I’m not being a gentleman, any half decent killer knows not to turn his back on an opponent.” 

“I’m your opponent?”

“Well you certainly aren't my ally.” 

Belle didn't know how to respond to that, she thought it was a pretty bleak outlook to have if everyone was classified as either ally or enemy. She guessed it would be terribly lonely, but then Belle glanced back at the cluster of chairs and supposed that if he had people to sit around a television screen with then maybe she was wrong. It was only at this glance back that she noticed there was another door adjacent to the one they had come through.

“What’s in there?” Belle asked.

He began to usher her up the stairs, “Just more sleeping quarters.” 

At the top of the staircase Belle found another door, and she half expected this to be locked too. She was about to comment on the absurdity of so many locks, but a simple twist of the handle had the hinges creaking and another even larger room was revealed to her. The first thing she noticed was the light. This room had windows and the moon, through some brilliant chance of fate, shone directly through the glass panes. She had never realised that she could miss sunlight or the sky, and as she gazed up at the stars she allowed herself to hope, as she hadn't in days, that maybe she would be alright.

“Trying to work out your location from the constellations are you dearie?” 

“No. What would what would be the use in that?” she said tearing her gaze away from the night sky.

“You could attempt to contact the police.” He suggested in such a reasonable tone that he might have been giving her genuine advice. 

“Yeah, like you don’t have them all in your pocket along with the rest of this town.” 

“You’re a smart one dearie.” 

“Stop calling me that. My name is Belle.” 

He laughed, “alright then Belle. Shall we continue?” 

Without allowing her the chance to reply he pointed towards one wall which was lined with guns, each supported by a pair of hooks, and a line of drawers which ran half of the length of the room; she could only guess as to what was stored in those. 

“The weapons wall, as my accomplices so aptly chose to name it.” He grimaced as he spoke and she wondered whether it was the name or the accomplices that his expression was aimed at. “You’ll be expected to clean these, and clean them thoroughly.” 

Belle was unable to keep her eyes on the weapons. So far it had been easier than she ever would have guessed to talk to Mr Gold; he was much less...monstrous than she had anticipated and it made it easy to forget who she was talking to. It was altogether a different story when she was stood in front of guns that she knew full well had been used to kill people. She had seen a gun before, she’d even fired one, her father kept one in the drawer of his bedside table and when she’d hit puberty he’d insisted that she at least knew how to fire it. That had been different though, her father’s gun rarely saw the outside of that drawer and even when it had the only thing it’d ever fired bullets at was a tree. The blood of every victim, every parent, sibling, or lover dripped from the wall in her mind’s eye and pooled at her feet, and it was all that she could do to keep herself from gagging at the idea of it. Eventually she pulled herself together and took a few deep breaths, she forced herself to look, to think rationally. If she refused this task she wouldn't be saving anybody. These people had been killing before she came here and would continue to do so even if she didn't clean their guns for them. All that would happen if she refused, well, she didn't really know what would happen, but she doubted it would be good for her. With her new found resolve Belle looked towards Gold who seemed to have been watching her moment of internal turmoil and to be satisfied by the outcome. 

“I – I don’t know how.” 

He sighed, “I guessed as much, well, somebody will find the time to teach you tomorrow.” 

The rest of his instructions were fairly simple. He told her that someone would come down and fetch her when she was to do her work and that if they were holding a meeting in this room she was to stay downstairs. The table he gestured to as he told her this reminded her of legends of King Arthur and his knights; it was so vast that she refused to believe that all of its seats had ever been filled. He was just moving towards what appeared to be a training area when he was interrupted by the ringing of a phone. He pulled a mobile out of his suit pocket giving the screen a disapproving look. 

“I should take this, just a moment.” He said in a clipped tone already halfway to the door. 

The minutes ticked away and it became apparent that Mr Gold’s version of ‘just a moment’ was very different to her own. She tried to stay put, but of course her curiosity got the better of her and she began to explore. Firstly she inspected the punching bags which were suspended from the ceiling and the gym mats piled in the corner, however her attention was soon drawn by a small set of steps. Belle hadn't paid much notice to the overlooking room when she had first entered yet now as she stared up at it she couldn't help but be reminded of a watch tower, only watch towers didn't usually have blacked out windows. Hesitantly she climbed the 8 steps and pushed open the door. Unsure as to what exactly she had been expecting, she felt relieved to find that it was only an office, albeit a very dismal office. Thick black curtains covered the windows and the desk was completely covered by piles of paper. This room was carpeted but it was thread bare, and its dark colour only made the room feel even bleaker. There was another bookshelf in there and a half dead plant sat morosely among the books. Belle spotted amongst the heaps of paper a photograph of a young boy. He looked to be about 12 with dark hair falling into his eyes, and a mischievous grin lit up every inch of his face; it was so infectious that it left Belle smiling too. She had just turned her eyes to one of the papers at the top of a pile when a soft voice came from behind her left shoulder. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

Mr Gold stood behind her his face a cool mask but his eyes were fixed on her like an animal ready to strike. 

“I’m sorry I was just- you took a while and I...I was only looking.” 

“I bet you were.” 

He took hold of her upper arm and pulled her so that there were mere inches between them, “You stay out of here understand? If I catch you in here again you’ll suffer for it.” He practically growled the words into her ear and she imagined she could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins. He half dragged her from the room and in the light he looked even more fearsome than before. Belle took a shaky breath and tried to stand up straight, tried to find her earlier calm. 

“This tour is over,” he snapped.

He still hadn't released her and now his fingers dug into her skin painfully as he led her down the stairs towards her cell. Slowly her fear began to dissipate as she realised that all he intended to do was send her back to her room like a naughty child and that the rest of it he was doing to frighten her. 

“You’re hurting me.” She griped.

He spun to face her and she had to admit that he managed to look intimidating even standing a step below her and leaning on a cane. “And?” He snarled.

“And, I didn't do anything to deserve it.”

“You were sneaking around in my private office.”

“How was I to know that it was your office? You were giving me a tour, so I was looking around, you didn't say you didn't want me to go up there.” 

“I also didn't say that you were free to wander around whilst I was gone.” 

Belle gritted her teeth, “It’s not my fault that you leave your crap all over the desk for anyone to see. If you have something to hide up there, maybe you should, you know, hide it.”

“Careful dearie.”

She lifted her chin defiantly, “you aren't frightening me so you may as well stop trying.” 

He pointed a finger at her, “stay out of my things, alright, stay out of my office.” 

“Yes we established that already.” She deadpanned. 

Completely done with his nonsense for the night she stalked past him and back towards her room. If he wanted to throw a tantrum because she’d broken rules that she had never been aware of in the first place then he could go ahead and do so all by himself. It was a long time that night before she heard the click of the lock on her bedroom door.


End file.
